


Squish

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Quarantine Drabbles [42]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, Newt is a Dork, Newton Geiszler Needs a Hug, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Newton Geiszler, also he can sew, or just any physical contact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24021328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Newt thrives off of human contact. There's not a lot of it to go around in the middle of a war, so he settles for soft objects.Hermann finds him one day when he's making one.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler & Hermann Gottlieb, Newton Geiszler & Mako Mori, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Series: Quarantine Drabbles [42]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677655
Comments: 7
Kudos: 98
Collections: PACIFIC RIM





	Squish

**Author's Note:**

> soffffttttt 
> 
> also otachi is the best kaiju and imma die on this hill

Fandom: Pacific Rim

Prompt: “What? Does that feel good?

* * *

Look, Newt just…really loves hugs, okay.

It’s not his fault! Listen, there’s scientific evidence that humans thrive off of physical contact, we’re herd animals for crying out loud, we’re not supposed to hold each other at arm’s length. It’s not good for us. Plus, it’s not like _Newt_ designed it that way, he can’t take credit for the biological structure of humanity. Although, now that he thinks about it, that wouldn’t be so bad. He has some questions…

Anyway, the _point_ is that physical contact is good, okay. Keeps him healthy.

And it’s not like he _needs_ to be squashed by another human laying on him like a cat for a couple hours at a time. It’ll be fine if he’s got someone to bump shoulders with, throw an arm around, and the _occasional_ hug. That’s enough.

Then, uh, you know, shit hits the fan, and he’s dragged into a war he never signed up for. He’s stuck in a laboratory with a fellow genius that doesn’t let him get super close on a good day. And those uptight military folk aren’t the hugging type.

Newt’s used to it, though. It’s not like going long stretches of time without physical contact outside of the occasional smack is anything new to him. He’s got backups.

“Ah, shit!” Newt sucks his newly pricked finger, trying to make the blood _go the heck away_ before he stains the fabric. “Fucking needle.”

“What are you _doing_ back there?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Newt calls, focusing on making the next stitch as neat and blood free as possible, “it’s nothing to worry about.”

He hears Hermann scoff.

“It isn’t!”

“Just keep yourself in one piece.”

“You got it!”

He’s grateful that one of the first things they ever agreed on about their workspace is they needed a privacy corner. It’s right on the border of their two sides; a pair of couches hidden safely behind a chalkboard and a hospital screen. In the beginning, they used it a low more, when one of them blew up at the other and needed a private spot to recover their dignity before the apologies and the awkward silence. Now it’s the ‘hide from scary officers’ and ‘recover from sensory overload’ place, at least primarily.

_We’ve also gotten better at sharing it,_ Newt thinks as he ties off the thread and starts on the next seam, _what with…everything._

He holds up the project, squinting. The wing is a little lopsided but it’s not too bad. It kinda looks like it’s been reattached after Raleigh and Mako sliced it off.

Yes, he’s making a plush Otachi. So what?

Come on, she had the wings, she had the color, she had those absolutely fucking _mesmerizing_ feelers, she had the chutzpah to fuck up most of Hong Kong, _and_ she did it while she was pregnant. Newt is _here_ for it.

Well, he _was_ there for it.

And nearly got killed for it.

Semantics.

Fortune favors the brave, dude.

It’s coming along nicely, all things considered. Newt’s lucky this base has a lot of scrap fabric lying around for no reason, _and_ that there’s a black market exchange going on which means he can get his hands on that really nice soft stuff that’s the _only_ thing he can hold when even his skin feels like it’s too much. Sure, the wing’s a little wonky, and the color’s not quite right, and there’s no way he’s gonna be able to capture the feelers, her mouth is shut, but it’s good enough.

“Newton?”

“Jesus Christ!” Newt holds his hand to his chest when Hermann’s head pops up right next to him. “Don’t fucking _do that,_ man.”

“Sorry, you didn’t respond when I called your name before.”

Newt waves a hand, picking Otachi up and stowing the needle safely. “It’s fine. What do you want?”

Hermann doesn’t answer. He’s too busy staring at the Otachi plush. Newt rolls his eyes.

“Come on. Go for it.”

“Sorry?”

  
“Tease me. Say whatever the hell you’re gonna say. I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”

“Newton, I—I wasn’t…” Hermann takes a breath, settling himself on the other end of the couch. Newt glances at him out of the corner of his eye.

They almost _never_ share a couch.

“I wasn’t going to tease you,” Hermann mumbles, “I was going to ask if what I heard was you pricking your finger.”

“Oh.” Newt looks at the red spot on his finger. “Yeah, uh, yeah it was.”

“I, er, didn’t know you could sew.”

Newt shrugs. “It’s useful. And sometimes I need my hands busy.”

“Ah.”

There are a few moments of silence but all Newt can focus on is Hermann is _right_ there, next to him, their shoulders almost brushing. Every fiber in him screams to just shift a little, so they can touch.

“Newton?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I…can I ask why you’re making it?”

Newt frowns at Hermann who looks…almost ashamed?

“What’re you wearin’ that face for?”

“Well, I—“ Hermann fumbles with his sweater— “you were doing it back here. I guessed you wanted it hidden.”

Oh. Well, yeah.

“I, uh, I need stuff to hold,” he confesses, running his fingers over the fabric, “when I, uh, need to…slow down.”

“I see.”

“And people aren’t always available.”

“No,” Hermann muses, glancing around, “especially not here, I would imagine.”

“Well, I got Mako. When she’s not busy.”

“And how often is that?”

“Not.”

“Mm.”

And it’s _Hermann_ who closes that distance between them, pressing himself firmly up against Newt’s shoulder. The shudder that runs through him is almost enough to get him to drop the plush. He also can’t stop the involuntary noise that says _someone is here._

“What?”

Shit, did Hermann think he was gonna say something? Think fast, Newt, figure it out.

But Hermann leans a little more of his weight into Newt and simply asks: “does that feel good?”

Newt nods, drinking it in. In their little corner, on the couch, away from the prying eyes, this is all he needs.

“You have me, Newton,” Hermann says, “and I trust you to…do the same.”

_Yeah,_ Newt thinks, _we do this. Look out for each other._

“Thanks, dude.”

“Of course.” Hermann gestures towards the Otachi plush. “Now, please explain to me what in _god’s_ name that thing sticking out of its rear end is.”

He gets to be squished on a couch _and_ ramble about Kaiju?

Yeah, Newt’s not going anywhere for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr while we're all in quarantine. 
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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